


high tide

by crowskullz (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Merstuck, Multi, Slow Burn, mermaid au, rosemary is pre-established and not the center here jsyk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowskullz
Summary: Karkat is a mysterious new student who fears the school pool, the beach, and lights that are too bright. Dave decides he needs to know what's going on, until he starts having peculiar issues of his own.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70





	1. hoarse

**Author's Note:**

> first homestuck fic! thinking about switching to third person next chapter, as it seemed to flow more easily that way near the end. kept it as second for consistency. we'll get to the mermaid shit soon, i promise. as soon as next chapter. this one is more for background.

Your name is David Strider, but if anyone actually called you that, you think you'd have an aneurysm. So let's try again. Your name is Dave Strider, and it's almost your eighteenth birthday. The big one-eight means a lot of things, like pretending you have the freedom to do whatever you want (which, you actually do, mostly. But that's not the point), and being able to buy scratch-offs out the wazoo.

Birthday parties aren’t really a D. Strides deal.

You were never really allowed to have one, not a traditional one, at least. You never had a party where you and all your little snot-nosed bros from kindergarten got together and made merry over a Lightning McQueen cake, a bowl of stale Doritos (brand name, the good shit), and a liter bottle of Diet Coke. That was more your friend John’s thing. You’d seen old pictures of him at his birthday parties before, red-cheeked and buck-toothed.

“Damn, you’ve looked like a dweeb since you were four? Tough break, man,” is what you’d said, earning yourself a laugh and friendly elbow in the side.

But it looked like fun. John and his friends had looked like they were having fun, anyway.

This year, what you had planned was the same as what you usually did for your birthdays. At least, since you could pay for shit yourself. Though, even though you insisted on paying for yourself, your stupid ass generous friends usually picked up the bill for you regardless. Since about your thirteenth birthday, you’d wager, you’d been getting your friends together and going out to eat. In the beginning, you chose the shittiest places in town, like Denny’s.

Everyone knows Denny’s is fucking cursed beyond belief. If you make it out of there alive and unscathed, it’s basically a fucking miracle. The place not only smells like piss, but you can taste the salt in the air from previously hosted Denny’s seances. On top of it all, it feels like the second you go out into the parking lot, if you don’t run to your car, you’re going to get murked by the four horsemen of the apocalypse: Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage.

It’s fucking beautiful.

But those hotcakes do make you kinda sick.

Lately, it’s been a mixture. You’ve been able to squeeze a little more in budget-wise, and not only that, but your friends started to take it into their hands to organize shit for you. You’d receive a text of, “meet here”, and you’d grab your bag from the kitchen table and go. Sometimes they left the choice in your hands, sometimes they chose based on what they knew you’d like. This year, you talked about the decision together. Everyone had had a turn to have the leading decision. And so, you chose your favorite place in the fucking world.

Olive Garden. Breadstick heaven. Breadsticks forged by the gods of Rome themselves and then put in a basket for exactly zero dollars and zero cents for you to shove into your mouth at the speed of light. You were beyond fucking ecstatic for your million carb birthday dinner. You were going to become famous one day, and then you would get the fucking lifetime free Olive Garden card. You were completely willing to beg if you had to, for free unlimited breadsticks to be bestowed upon thine earthly constitution. Hands and knees, hands down.

But in the meantime, before you could conquer a breadstick basket, you had to conquer the days at school that came before your birthday.

Every morning is the same. You get out of bed, not bothering to remake it, and groggily get dressed, nearly tripping over yourself as you do so, your limbs bruised and aching with overexertion and new scars. You don’t spend a long time fussing over your appearance, contrary to what you would have your friends believe. You don’t have the motivation to. In fact, you barely take a look at yourself in the mirror before you sling your half-open bag over your shoulder, carding a hand through your hair as you quietly escape the apartment. Bro was hardly ever awake when it was time for you to leave for school, and as long as you were quiet, you the probability of dealing with him first thing in the morning, thank god, was nearly zero. He stayed up late into the night, or early into the morning, rather. He went to sleep, and you woke up, in an awkward cycle. If he was awake when you woke up, you either waited until he retired to his room and threw yourself out the door, or you stayed home that day.

Today was a throw yourself out the door type of day. It was fifteen minutes before class was supposed to start by the time you heard the subtle click of Bro’s door shutting and locking behind him. You haphazardly throw your half-open backpack over your shoulder, taking care to open the door as quietly as possible, holding your breath as you make your way down the hall. Bro probably wouldn’t bother you in the morning, but it was hard to say. Every precaution was best taken.

When you saw the empty cans littered across the living room, you knew today would either be a really good day or a really bad day. There was a chance Bro would be out cold when you came home, and there was a chance he would be up and drinking again. It was best to hope for the first possibility.

After gently shutting the apartment door, you tear down the hall, which, for the most part, was empty by now. The elevator was out of order, and had been for as long as you could remember. Naturally, you live on the top floor: the magic number thirty-nine, which is also approximately how many times you almost trip running down the stairs, grasping onto the straps of your bag for dear life. The receptionist has the decency to not so much look up as you dart past and out the doors, taking off down the sidewalk, looking down for a split second to check your phone for the time. Fuck, 8 minutes. Technically, it didn’t really matter whether you were late or not, but the secretary in the office always requested a letter from your parents to give you an excuse as to why you were late. If you forged, you were found out, and you couldn’t ask Bro to write you a note. If the school called him or sent a letter to the house, there was a pretty astronomical chance that he wouldn’t pick up and wouldn’t open the letters. While Bro was deadset on having you go to school, he didn’t seem to care what your grades were or whether you got in trouble or not. This worked pretty well, not that you were much of a troublemaker anyway, despite being Dave Strider. You occasionally got scolded, and your grades were average, though they would be much fucking better if you didn’t have so much homework.

It wasn’t a matter of not wanting to. It was a matter of not having time. And you can’t really tell teachers you don’t have time to do their work because you’re busy sword-fighting, even if for the most part, it was true. Between being injured enough that breathing hurts and doing everything to keep yourself alive, you were kinda busy. And as soon as this year was over, you were getting the fuck out of there, and never looking back to that dingy apartment.

You have to stop running momentarily to catch your breath, but manage to keep at a slight jog. The school is close enough that you can see it, and you’ve still got a good three minutes to spare. You’ll be late to class, but that’s not particularly unusual. You cross the last crosswalk, pushing the door open with your shoulder, still working on catching your breath, carding a hand through your hair. You’re late enough today that you don’t catch a glimpse of any of your friends standing around in the hall. They must already be in class.

Well, you’ve thoroughly out-dilly-dallied yourself anyway. You feel comfortable just walking now, even though you walk into Calculus about seven minutes post-bell. The teacher gives you a stern look as you sit down, sliding your bag under your desk after getting out your notebook and a pen. As usual, especially in your first class, you were distracted. Not that it mattered, anyway; it wasn’t that you loved math, but you didn’t hate it, and you certainly weren’t bad at it. It didn’t come as naturally as history or science, but you could do pretty okay winging it. Usually, you zoned out. Today, something caught your eye. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a new student in class, sitting essentially opposite of you, up in front near the teacher, taking in every word, furiously scribbling.

You absentmindedly chew on the cap of your pen, leg bouncing under the desk. Poor guy must have a shit ton of work to catch up on transferring schools in fuckin’ December. 

There’s no way to get a great look at him from so far back. All you can really see is his head of curly black hair and the fact that his gray sweater sleeves were far too long for his arms. Your curiosity was piqued. Everyone always swarmed new kids. It’s just how it was. It was interesting to meet new people, though you tended to stay in the background of it all. The new kids would fall into one of the existing high school cliques, and that was the end of that. As much as you love your friends, they’re kind of the weird kids. The nerdy rejects.

And that’s how you like it.

Most of the day passes without much to note. You find out this new kid’s name is Karkat, which is a weird fucking name, but you guess people have been running out of choices. It’s better than trying to spell Tyler or Jacob half a million different ways. Stupidly, you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of him, if only for want of finally getting to see his face. But it seems like once the bell rings, he’s gone in an instant. Maybe he was a goody-two-shoes, unlike wander-the-halls Dave. 

That is, until lunch. As a senior, your privilege is being able to sit outside to eat. It’s nice, even if the picnic benches are old and shitty. You always choose to sit outside, and when you get your lunch and bring it out, John and Jade are already talking about god knows what.

“Hey, Dave!” John greets you first, perking up and interrupting Jade mid-explanation. She’s initially annoyed, but she seems to think greeting a friend is reason enough. “Hi, Dave! Have you seen Rose? She’s late!” Jade says, her head in her hand as she picks at the bag of grapes in front of her. “Hey,” you nod, taking a seat, setting your tray down, “nope. No idea where she is. Maybe she finally got caught canoodling with her girlfriend in the hallway.” Precisely on cue, Rose appears in the doorway. “Canoodling, Dave? No one says that anymore. Actually, I don’t think anyone ever really has. But, for your information, no, I was not caught canoodling, nor was I doing any canoodling that I got away with.” She comes to sit beside Jade before she continues her explanation, setting her bag down beside her on the bench. “Kanaya is helping a new student find his way around. Apparently, the two of them know each other.”

You stuff that information away in your brain’s filing cabinet.

“I saw him. That Karkat kid?” You say before John gets the chance to speak. 

“Yes, ‘that Karkat kid’ indeed. Karkat Vantas. He seems.. dedicated to his studies,” is how she decides to finish that sentence, her hand hovering above the lid of her lunchbag.

John grimaces. “Well, he’s got to be alright if Kanaya is friends with him, right?” Jade says optimistically, and really, quite logically. You didn’t know her very well, but Kanaya was definitely a voice of reason type of character. She probably wouldn’t stick around no-good people. Whatever the fuck that means. “I tried to talk to him,” John says finally, grimacing as he fiddles with his fork, twirling and un-twirling the spaghetti in his thermos. “he kind of just gave me a look.. like, a ‘what the heck?’ kind of look, you know?” 

“I would be kind of weirded out if Lord Dork, John Egbert, approached me with his weirdly bubbly demeanor on my first day, too,” you say, and John smiles. That comment earns you a gentle elbow in the side. “Shut up, Dave! I’ll have you know, my bubbly demeanor is quite endearing! So there!”

“Whatever it be about John’s weird bubbly demeanor, Karkat seems as though he needs time to warm up to people first. So no, relentless cheer does not seem the way to go.” Rose takes a sip of water as John sinks back a little. “So he’s an asshole, is what you’re saying.” “Yes,” Rose says without skipping a beat. “Funny. I know a girl who’s also pretty dedicated to her studies.” You say, fighting your smirk away, fiddling with your shades. Rose has much the same expression, though she doesn’t fight it, simply making eye contact. “I also know someone who seems ‘pretty dedicated to his studies’. Perhaps he should get to know Karkat, and they can be ‘pretty dedicated to their studies’ together. Except he’s only got the asshole part down, and not the studying part. I believe his name is Dave Strider. Maybe you know him.”

“Shit, Dave Strider? He sounds cool as shit, and while that’s definitely a prick name, he’s probably an asshole in the most endearing way possible, and his sister definitely loves him very much, even though she relentlessly teases him.” Rose opens her mouth to shoot back, but is interrupted by the creaking of the opening door. Kanaya steps out into the grass, followed by Karkat, the studious asshole of the hour. Now, out in the light, and actually seeing him from the front, Dave can get a decent look at him. His face this time. His eyes are a deep brown, and freckles dot his cheeks, as well as the bridge of his nose. Next to Kanaya, he seems like a munchkin, short in stature, though you would probably guess he wouldn’t seem so short next to someone that wasn’t as freakishly tall as Rose’s girlfriend. He seems hesitant to come sit with them, even as Kanaya herds him towards the table, talking quietly to him as though it would calm him like a baby. Eventually, he seems to give in. Kanaya takes her place next to Rose, which leaves Karkat to sit beside Dave.

Score one for D. Strides. 

If John had trouble talking to Karkat, Dave had to know what was up with him. John was intoxicatingly nice, even if he was also nerdy and weird.

“Hey,” you begin, and even that much gets you an almost incredulous expression. John shoots you a knowing look.

Kanaya quickly interjects. “Everyone, this is Karkat. He is staying here with his mother for the remainder of the school year. He is an old friend of mine.” Jade waves and introduces herself, and Karkat nods in response. He already knew everyone else here. John probably introduced himself in the most embarrassing way possible, and Rose just came from talking with him and Kanaya.

“Hey,” he says back after an awkward pause, as if he wasn’t really sure how to respond. You can’t help but squint a little behind the safety of your shades, quickly hiding the frown that pulls at your lips. The kid has an accent that you can’t quite place. Altogether, his voice sounds peculiar, and you recognize that aside from that, that he sounds as if he hadn’t spoken in awhile.

You knew what that sounded like from personal experience.

That instantly sparked not only your curiosity, but a twinge of concern. That’s what made you decide you had to figure this kid out.


	2. the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> switched to third person. the rest of the fic will most likely be in 3rd person POV. specific warnings for this chapter: emetophobia, blood, and the implied abuse shows up in here strong as well.

It’d been two days since Karkat Vantas appeared from the mysterious land of fuck-all. 

It took about that long for the school officials to finally settle exactly what his schedule would be, and for the teachers to start preparing catch-up work. At some points of the day, their schedules lined up. Dave and Karkat shared a Calculus class, their lunch, and their Chemistry and PE classes. Things passed without incident, for the most part. Karkat took lots of notes, and Dave hardly took any. And still, Dave was the one to help explain things to Karkat. Their conversations mostly centered around school, particularly what Karkat struggled with, and constant due date double-checking.

But as for Dave, his birthday was tomorrow, and it would finally be time to partake in the holy grail of unlimited breadsticks. He’d almost made it through the week, and there had been minimal sword fighting sessions. In fact, there had been minimal interactions with Bro at all.

It made him uneasy. Something was coming. Something big, and something inevitable. But he hid his discomfort with practiced ease as he slung his gym bag over his shoulder, coming out of the locker room as Karkat was about to head in.

“Yo, heads up, we’re in the pool today. So grab your shit, yeah?” 

Things had been going well with Karkat, too. He was slowly coming out of his shell. At least, it appeared that way. He talked more, and his shoulders were not quite as tense as they were before. But Dave didn’t ask about his home life, and in turn, Karkat didn’t ask about Dave’s, as if in some weird silent truce, even though Dave was determined to figure him out, morbidly curious. Maybe Karkat would understand what it was like. What his life was like. 

He shrugged the thought off immediately, inwardly grimacing. He hoped the fuck he wouldn’t. He yearned for someone to finally fucking understand him, to get what he was going through, but it was beyond selfish of him to wish that Karkat was struggling the same way he was. He would never wish Bro’s wrath even on his worst enemy. 

“The what?” Karkat spun to face him, his chocolate brown eyes suddenly wide and nearly black, his knuckles white as he clutched the straps of his bag in a death grip. Dave was almost one hundred percent positive he could see his fingers shaking. 

“The pool,” he restated, more slowly this time. Not because he thought Karkat didn’t hear him, but because he’d never seen someone react to the notion of swimming so.. violently. “Dude, if you can’t swim, it’s cool. They’re good about that stuff. Going slow or whatever. You’re not gonna drown. Just chill out, alright?” Dave shrugged nonchalantly as if to show that, yes, this was going to be completely and totally fucking chill.

Apparently, that was the completely wrong response. Karkat’s face paled. “Dave,” he said slowly, quietly, his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly with the massive breaths he was taking in an attempt to steady himself, “I can’t just fucking chill out. I can’t get near the fucking pool. I can’t.” 

Dave pauses, catching the eye of a pair of girls watching Karkat from the opposite door as if daring them to say something. They move on without saying anything. Within earshot, at least. Good. The last thing Karkat needed was to freak out about embarrassing himself.

“Then skip.”

“Skip?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” It was almost funny how, even while nearly having a freakout, Karkat had it in him to yell. His voice cracked when he did, his teeth gritted. “Dave, I’m not going to skip a class. Are you off your fucking rocker?!” He wheezes, shaking his head rapidly, his hands balled into fists. What Dave had learned about Karkat in the past two days was how dedicated he was to school, and admittedly, yeah, it was stupid to tell Karkat to skip as if he didn’t know that. “I just got here! I can’t ruin my record already!”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. Let’s go talk to the coach, okay?” Dave held his hands up in defeat before moving to pat Karkat on the back. Naturally, Karkat shrugged his hand off, scrunching his shoulders, his face still pale, sweat beading on his temples. So much for the untensed shoulders.

Whatever his deal was, he was sick over getting into the pool. Maybe he had almost drowned at some point. If that were the case, Dave couldn’t say he really blamed him for being so frightened of water.

Together, they entered the pool area, and some members of their class were already in the pool, the lifeguards watching like hawks from the edges of the premises. 

“C’mon,” Dave steered Karkat towards the coach, and the closer they got to the pool, Karkat seemed to be getting increasingly uncomfortable. It would be fine. They’d only be here for a second, and then Karkat could go do something else in the gym. Whatever kids that really, really couldn’t swim did. 

Dave decided to start the conversation with the coach, considering Karkat was still freaking out beside him. He’d never really had someone as close to him as Karkat was right now, pressed firmly up against him in an attempt to stay as far away from the pool as he could while still being somewhat present in the conversation, even though he was completely in his own head as far as Dave could tell. It didn’t take much convincing, considering the degree to which Karkat was freaking out. It was obvious that something was very wrong. He would be allowed to not swim, though he would need a doctor’s note for sake of officiality.

Karkat was not listening. Dave nudged him, and before he got to explain, Karkat just nodded. He seemed to know that the outcome of the conversation had been positive, and that was all that mattered. 

Of course, things had to go south real fucking fast. 

As Karkat turned to go sit on the bleachers, he slipped on the wet poolside and fell in, fully clothed. His sweater was heavy wool, and his oversized jeans would surely drag him down. Yeah, the water was relatively shallow at this end, but without thinking, Dave jumped in, lifting Karkat out of the water as fast as he could, pushing him up onto the ledge, pulling himself out after.

Karkat was panicked, soaked, and coughing. Dave didn’t get a chance to so much as open his mouth before Karkat clumsily got up and took off. It would be a miracle if he didn’t slip again, and this time, he might crack his head off of the concrete if he so much as tripped. He couldn’t help but sit for a moment in shock, trying to process what had happened in a matter of seconds. Dave would be the one taking the skip today, though it was for a pretty good reason.

People were staring.

Dave couldn’t care.

He tore off after Karkat, equally as drenched and likely to fall on his ass. It wasn’t hard to follow a fucking trail of dripping water through the school, and thank god the hall was empty. Where he found Karkat was back in the gym changing room.

“Hey-”

His voice makes Karkat jump half a foot into the air. He’s a sopping wet, fully clothed mess, with his hood up around his head, hands fully covered by his sweater sleeves.

“Dave,” he inhaled sharply, “you’ve got to get the fuck away from me. I’m not fucking playing, I need you to get the fuck out of here. Now.” His voice shook with his body. He looked oddly small.

What was he supposed to do? Leave Karkat here, whilst he’s still freaking out, or go back to class like the asshole of the year? His mind was made up without so much as thinking about it.

“No offense, but you just ate shit, so I kind of can’t just fucking leave you here.” Yeah, it won’t do much good being a shithead about it, but Dave throws a few towels from the rack Karkat’s way. “I’ll get your bag, okay? It’ll suck wearing shitty gym clothes all day, but they’re dry.”

At first, he stays dangerously still, and then he nods, walking hurriedly off toward the bathroom, leaving Dave alone. 

This is the moment when he realized he had no idea where the hell Karkat’s gym locker was, let alone what the combination might have been, even though he had just gotten it a few days ago. Karkat would just have to deal with Dave’s clothes.

Behind the closed door, while Dave was horsing around, Karkat peeled his soaked clothes off, rubbing his skin furiously with the towels he had been given, trying to fight his own body before it got time to change him. Some of the process had already begun, but with the water removed from the equation so quickly, most of it had been avoided.

He breathed a quivering sigh of relief. For the small victories.

Still, he had to figure out how to hide the patches of skin that were covered in candy red scales. He wasn’t used to this anymore. To hiding himself, to staying as far away from water as possible. He knew that this was a necessity around humans, and while he was on land, this was his reality. It had to be. He both feared water and longed for its familiar embrace. He had to stay away from the ocean and its familiar currents that would take him home if he followed the appropriate paths, the safe darkness that the depths provided, and the gentle flicker of bioluminescence.

It almost made him feel sick to think about the fact that he had to fear the place that was kindest to him.

He dabs at his scales with the towel in silence, hoping that it would help clear them up more quickly, listening to Dave outside in the locker room. He was still highly opposed to skipping, but he no longer had the energy to make a big deal of it if it came down to being his only choice. There was no way he could risk being found out.

When Dave came in, he was examining the beginnings of pale red webbing that had started to develop between his fingers. It was fading by now. It was probably a lot more noticeable to him than it would be to any of these humans. 

“Here.” Dave swiftly kicked his gym bag under the stall door, shoving his hands in his soaked jean pockets, stepping back to lean against the wall to wait for his friend.

Oh, shit. Dave had forgotten he was soaked too, in the rush of it all. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been soaked at school all day before, so, checkmate. He would deal with it, or maybe the nurse’s office had spare clothes. He had the time to go get them. He wanted Karkat to feel better as soon as possible, and being dry would probably help with not being constantly reminded of the feeling of wool dragging you down into the murky depths of chlorine and teenage hormones.

"Thank you," Karkat murmured, quickly getting dressed in Dave's warm, dry clothes. They were too big. Perfect. He smooths his hands down the fabric of his shirt, checking his arms. There were still red patches on his skin, and unfortunately, they stuck out like a sore thumb. Time seemed like it was moving extremely fast. Class had to be almost over, didn’t it? He didn’t have any clothes to wrap his arms in, and even if he did, it would look stupid as hell.

A few more minutes ticked by with Karkat sitting, waiting, absentmindedly brushing his fingers over his scales, feeling the texture. His skin was dry by now. It shouldn’t be long now, but all precautions were best taken. It was a delicate situation.

He only knew for sure that Dave was still waiting for him because he could faintly hear the music blasting through his headphones. That kid was going to have damaged hearing before twenty. 

“Dave?" He asks slowly, tentatively.

"Yeah?" 

He must only have one earbud in. 

"This is an idiotic, stupid, silly fucking question. Do you have any bandages?"

Dave doesn't need to respond with words. He digs in his bag for a moment before he rolls a roll of bandages under the stall. 

Karkat had to wonder why he did have them, but that was a later question. For now, he set to wrapping his arms.

With a gentle click, the door opens, and there stands Karkat, in Dave's shitty gym clothes, his arms half mummy-wrapped. Dave was pretty sure Karkat hadn't scraped himself, but maybe he had just failed to notice. He went down fast, and pretty hard. He wouldn’t be surprised if some bruises would develop if Karkat had tried to catch himself.

"Well, cool. I think the bell's about to ring, so... I'd get to class, Mr. Pretty Dedicated to His Studies." The corner of Dave’s lip upturns in a smug smile, and Karkat scowls.

“Okay, Mr. Smug Asshole.” He gathers up his bag from the locker room bench, and sure enough, as he slings it over his shoulder, the bell rings. Dave speaks as he turns to leave.

“Hey, can we talk later? You walk home too, right? I’ll wait outside for you if that’s alright.” 

Karkat studies his face for a moment with a raised eyebrow before nodding. “Yeah, that’s fine. See you later.” He gives Dave a small wave before heading off to class.

* * *

Sure enough, when Dave left his final class, he found Karkat waiting on the steps outside for him. He had gotten there before Dave, but he had still decided to stay. He speaks first. 

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something,” Karkat says immediately, straight to the point. 

“Yeah. Well, first of all, tomorrow me and the nerdy kids you’ve been sitting with at lunch are all going out to dinner. Rose is going, so Kanaya will probably be there, and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come. Don’t worry about paying if you can’t. Someone will cover you.” He shifts his weight over onto his other leg, shoving his hand into his still damp jean pocket.

“You never changed,” Karkat says suddenly, changing the topic. Dave couldn’t tell whether he was attempting to avoid the subject or not. He simply shrugs in response.

“You dumbass, you could get sick!” Karkat hisses, his hands instinctively balling into fists. “And then what? Were these your only clothes? You shouldn’t have given them to me!”

“Nah, already done. Besides, that’s not the subject at hand. You coming to NerdCon or not?” The black-haired boy still seems a bit upset at the prospect of Dave sacrificing his fucking health for him, and the sheer idiocy of sitting around damp all day, but he nods, shaking his head afterward to make sure his annoyance is apparent.

Dave can’t help but smile. “Sick. We’re all gonna meet out here after school and walk to the restaurant. It’s not very far from here. Still, it’s best to keep the Dave Strider communication line open for questions. You have a Pesterchum?”

If they were meeting up, was exchanging users really necessary? Was Dave really trying to get Karkat’s number, even after, as Dave would put it, he totally wrecked his shit? He frowns, raising an eyebrow suspiciously, but Dave opens his phone. 

It only takes a few seconds for him to relent. “Yeah. Here.” He takes Dave’s phone, plugging in his username to send himself a friend request from the client. “Don’t message me at two in the morning, dipshit, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it. Catch you on the flip side, Karkat, I gotta go. Duty calls.” Dave waves as he walks off, and Karkat can’t help but notice how stiff he’d become.

* * *

Sure enough, that was the night that the storm hit.

Dave sat quietly in the bathroom, a change of clothes and an abundance of medical supplies beside him on the counter, streaked with blood from his fingers. Suddenly, he was really, really fucking thankful he had Karkat’s handle. It was late at night, exactly when Karkat said not to message him, but he had no other choice. He wasn’t going to school tomorrow.

TG: hey 

TG: remember when i said it was cool and i wouldnt message you at like 2 in the morning

TG: well you didnt say anything about 1 in the morning so i assume its cool that im messaging you rn

TG: a little bit of a change of plans

TG: im not coming to school tomorrow

TG: ill still meet all of you at the garden ok? just tell john that or whatever so he doesnt freak the fuck out

He sets his phone down, double-checking the door to make sure it’s locked, removing the clothes hung up in the shower, reaching up as carefully as he could, flinching as he inevitably strained his sore muscles. Hopefully, the bath would help a little bit, though that wasn’t really the goal. He had to scrub the blood off of his skin, and taking a bath was a good way to both clean up and wash out his wounds at the same time.

As he starts the bath, he shakily removes his clothes, careful to avoid catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to know what he looked like, even though he had a pretty good guess.

When his phone buzzes, he startles, flinching at the sudden noise, but he finds himself fumbling for his phone right away. 

CG: WHAT? WHY?

CG: ALSO, IT’S NOT OKAY. DON’T MAKE A HABIT OF MESSAGING ME SO FUCKING EARLY FOR NO REASON. BESIDES THAT, WHY CAN’T YOU MESSAGE JOHN AND JUST TELL HIM RIGHT NOW? YOU TWO ARE CLOSER THAN I EVER WILL BE.

TG: just tell him

CG: WHATEVER. BUT THAT DOESN’T ANSWER THE QUESTION. DID MY TEARING SHIT UP EMBARRASS YOU? I’M SO FUCKING SORRY TO RUIN YOUR COOL KID SCHTICK BY ABSOLUTELY WRECKING MYSELF.

So Karkat noticed that people were watching, and he was embarrassed about the whole situation. Dave furrows his brows, wiping his bloody nose on his arm.

TG: no

TG: it was pretty dope honestly

CG: YOU’RE SUCH A SHITHEAD.

CG: I’LL TELL JOHN, BUT I WANT AN EXPLANATION OUT OF YOU LATER.

TG: nah

TG: night karkat

With that, he turns his phone off. He had faith that Karkat would do what he was asked to despite his attitude. He was exhausted, and frankly, he didn’t want to tell Karkat shit. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He’d known his other friends since they were all in middle school, and he hadn’t said a single word about Bro to them, except the massive fucking mistake of convincing John that Bro was cool and ironic, or whatever the fuck he said when he was thirteen. Maybe it was best that he did it, even if he was kicking himself for being so fucking stupid. It meant John wouldn’t ask questions. He trusted Dave to tell him the truth.

When he put it that way, he felt even more guilty about it.

He coughs, wiping the blood that spotted his lip off on his still somewhat damp jeans from earlier. 

_Happy birthday, little bro._

Suddenly, he felt sick to his stomach. Shakily, he gets into the tub, and as soon as he sits down, the water swirls with pink. He holds his breath as he steels himself, carefully scrubbing the half-dried blood off of his skin. He could do it. He’d done it so many countless times before.

This time, when he finishes and studies his skin to double-check his work, something is very, very wrong.

Biting his lip, he ghosts his fingers across the red patches on his arm. That wasn’t a cut. He sure fucking knew what those looked like, and this was not it.

He lifts his other hand out of the water, and the sickness in the pit of his stomach intensifies. The same patches line his other arm as well, and as he studies his hands, he can see faint red webbing between his fingers.

He rises out of the tub, wraps a towel around himself, and promptly throws up.


End file.
